The World is At His Feet and it Does Not Breathe
by ImpalaLove
Summary: Kind of a tag to 10x22. Cas's POV. "I'm the one who will have to watch you murder the world."


**Semi-indirect tag to 10x22. This came from speculating on Cas's line about him having to watch Dean "murder the world," so naturally it's not a very happy one, unlike all my other stories which are just buckets of brimming sunshine. Just kidding. Anyway, no real spoilers for the season.**

 **Cas's POV.**

* * *

The World is at His Feet and It Does Not Breathe

I did not think it would be green. All that I can imagine, all the infinite memories and knowledge that I hold inside of me, and I could never picture it as green. I suppose there are limits to even what I can see. I suppose that is for the best, because there are some things I would never want to.

This is one of them.

That green, that piercing green. Beautiful in some ways, but not the right ones. I have watched the world come apart many times over the centuries, and each time, I have watched it rebuild itself again, slow and brimming and miraculous. It arises in smoke and fire and a flap of wings from the ashes, a Phoenix given another chance at breathing and flight. This is not the same. There is no smoke or fog or fiery explosion of black, red, orange, yellow.

There is only green.

He stalks across the world with a Blade in his hand and a hole in his chest, carved out by all the things he's fought, all the evil he meant to destroy. That's the problem though. Nothing is ever truly destroyed. I have seen the Earth from its beginnings and I know the truth. Nothing ever really disappears. It gets recycled, reconstructed, reinvented. It survives. He survives. I feel like I cannot for much longer, not if I must continue to watch what he has become.

There is so much green.

The oceans are like servants who bow before him, waves licking obediently at his heels as he digs his toes into the dirt, the sand, the concrete of his shattered memories. The mountains crumble like ancient gravestones before him, cracking apart along the edges until they too, kneel at his feet. Sometimes he smiles at this, but I do not think he knows happiness. He did once, long ago. It came to him in the moments between charcoal and chaos, nestled in the confines of the heart of a man he called "Sammy."

Now, he just walks, Blade swinging in his hand.

I cannot remember how I got here, but the sky is above me and the ground is at my back, one small rock pushing and grinding against the tail of my spine. Funny how something so small can cause so much pain, even for something like me. Pain. There is so much of it now, spread across the earth. Not an inch left untouched.

I almost reach him now, almost get a part of him back. It is just after Pasadena and before Palo Alto. I think that is the only reason he hesitates. Stanford used to mean something to him.

"Please," I beg, his shoulders pushed against my palms. I hold onto him as if it were him that would shatter without the contact. Instead, it is me. I do. I shatter. He shifts, locks, loads. I fall. Bones crack beneath fists, the breath I do not need squeezed out of me like the last rays of sunset drowning beneath the world.

But the world is gone now, and all I see is green.

He pulls me to my feet, eases the blade slowly through my skin, my ribcage, my heart. He takes an extra moment to watch the light fade from my eyes, the eyes that have watched him all this time, even now when there is nothing left of who he was. I still remember though. I remember stars and guns and strong whiskey. Long days and a fierce determination that could rival the impossible nights, the most insurmountable of feats. Motel carpets stained with blood and sweat and smoke, hands steady as he takes the wheel, as he drives drives drives. I remember the color of his soul, the steady warmth that pushed against the inside of his skin, that light he could never see within himself. I remember a brother and a protector and the best friend I have ever known, the man I could never truly save, no matter how many times I tried. I was not the only one who tried.

He does not smile as I gasp and sputter against his chest, as my grace bleeds out of me and onto the ground below.

I do not know if I imagine it, but I feel his arms tighten around me, just for a moment. And I understand. He does not want me to see anymore. This is his final mercy, the last gift I could hope to receive after all these crimson years soaked in his unforgivable sins. He will be eternal, and I will be spared the memory of it.

"Thank you," I whisper, my gaze latched onto his.

I close my eyes one last time, and all I see is green.

* * *

 **I have no excuses for this story, just a puddle of season 10 angst and feels that needed a place to go. If you have time, I'd appreciate hearing your thoughts, and thanks for reading!**


End file.
